many wished to return to work, others clamoured for violence, nor were
these wholly discouraged by a portion of the leaders. A riot seemed
imminent--a riot Antonelli feared and firmly opposed, since it would
alienate the sympathy of that wider public in the country on which the
success of the strike depended. Watchful, yet apparently unconcerned,
unmoved by the quarrels, the fierce demands for "action," he sat on the
little stage, smoking his cigars and reading his newspapers.

Janet's nerves were taut. There had been times during the past weeks when
she had been aware of new and vaguely disquieting portents. Inexperience
had led her to belittle them, and the absorbing nature of her work, the
excitement due to the strange life of conflict, of new ideas, into which
she had so unreservedly flung herself, the resentment that galvanized
her--all these had diverted her from worry. At night, hers had been the
oblivious slumber of the weary.... And then, as a desperate wayfarer,
pressing on, feels a heavy drop of rain and glances up to perceive the
clouds that have long been gathering, she awoke in the black morning
hours, and fear descended upon her. Suddenly her brain became hideously
active as she lay, dry-upped, staring into the darkness, striving to
convince herself that it could not be. But the thing had its advocate,
also, to summon ingeniously, in cumulative array, those omens she had
ignored: to cause her to piece together, in this moment of torture,
portions of the knowledge of sexual facts that prudery banishes from
education, a smattering of which reaches the ears of such young women as
Janet in devious, roundabout ways. Several times, in the month just past,
she had had unwonted attacks of dizziness, of faintness, and on one
occasion Anna Mower, alarmed, had opened the window of the bibliotheque
and thrust her into the cold air. Now, with a pang of fear she recalled
what Anna had said:--"You're working too hard--you hadn't ought to stay
here nights. If it was some girls I've met, I'd know what to think."